


The Height of the Ridiculous

by SmutKeeper



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Comic, Fanart, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutKeeper/pseuds/SmutKeeper
Summary: Crowley asks Aziraphale to read him a poem, with an added challenge. Aziraphale is more than happy to oblige.First chapter is the comic, second is the same concept as a fic!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 283





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This totally got posted on the wrong account at first WHOOPS. Ah well, such is life. XD
> 
> You know those Hysterical Literature videos - where women wear vibrators and read passages of text? Well that, but Aziraphale. Happy (belated) World Poetry Day!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same thing but in fic format!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, I sure did not beta this much so please do feel free to mention if there's any egregious errors! Have fun!

“Ready, Angel?” Crowley asked.  
  
Aziraphale smiled back at him benignly and wriggled a bit in his seat. “Yes, dear,” he assured. Bright light and excitement drew him out from the shadows, revealing him in the way his fingers worried the margin of the page. “Are we recording?”  
  
Bright yellow eyes gleamed in the dark, wherein Crowley controlled the camera and Aziraphale alike. A silvery flash of smile and a hungry whisper answered Aziraphale's question, “Sure are.”  
  
This had all been Crowley’s idea. The setup, that is. From the darkly intimate room to the book in Aziraphale’s hands. _Won’t you read me a poem?_ he had begged, to Aziraphale’s oblivious delight. _This one, here. A few lines, spoken trippingly. Won’t you indulge me?  
  
_ And Aziraphale had agreed; of course he did. Any chance to share his passion of literature with Crowley was to be treasured, and the demon so rarely sought to ask for any sort of favor. He’d all but leaped at the opportunity — but really, Aziraphale should have guessed. He should have known that Crowley only ever made requests to further spoil him. He should have seen this coming.  
  
 _Read to me this poem. Only, I have an idea to make it a bit more interesting.  
  
_ Aziraphale’s heart pounded compellingly in his chest. The affection in Crowley’s voice, a smile woven into sound, settled comfortingly alongside it. He took a breath, held the warmth of a shared secret between his lungs, between his legs, then exhaled. _Read to me. That’s all I want you to do_.  
  
Right, then. Time to get to it.  
  
“Now, today I will be reading a lovely little poem,” he began. His voice was steady. “It is called: _The Height of the Ridiculous.”_ A beat. Nothing. Emboldened, he cleared his throat and recited:  
  
“I wrote some lines once upon a time  
In wondrous merry mood,  
And thought, as usual, men would say,  
They were exceeding good.”  
  
 _Click.  
  
_ No sooner than had the last word left his lips did the vibration begin. So faint; a kiss of sensation to a mouth already wet with anticipation. Heat bloomed in his stomach and his cheeks, and he fought the urge to hide his affliction from the exposure of the light. He turned just away to hide a gasp behind his clenched fist. A deep, steadying breath in. When he regained his composure enough to speak, he did so with an abashed grin to the camera.  
  
"They were queer, so very queer,  
I laughed as I would die;  
Albeit, in the general way,  
A sober man am I."  
  
Crowley was loving this. Aziraphale knew this without sight, could feel the joy and love filling the room, alone as he was on this stage, volleyed by his enraptured audience of one. The vibrator hummed in a sweet, rousing revelry. He shifted his weight in his seat, pressing into the toy just a little more fully. The sleek plastic toy pushed teasingly higher, nearer to his clit. And oh, it _did_ feel good. Crowley made him feel so very good. This time he smiled with gratitude.   
  
"I called my servant, and he c-came,  
How _kind_ it was of him,  
To mind a slender man like me,  
He of mighty limb."  
  
Aziraphale's breath caught, and suddenly this innocent poem seemed unbearably obscene. Not that he minded. He tried to impart as much appreciation into his delivery as he could, to Crowley's frustration. And Aziraphale did hope he was frustrated; hot and bothered in even an echo of the state he himself was in. While Crowley might be enjoying watching him squirm, Aziraphale too enjoyed putting on a show, just as much. He sat up a little straighter to properly deliver the performance.  
  
“‘These to the printer,’ I exclaimed,  
A-and in my humorous way,  
I _ah_ -added (as a trifling jest)  
‘There’ll be the devil to pay!’”  
  
His showboating was short-lived. Crowley startled a laugh out of him by vengefully ramping up the vibrator during the last line. Aziraphale’s bubbling giggles burst into gasps, and he set the book fully upon the table and leaned over it. The words danced on the page while his attention split between the poem and his ultimate obligation. His stomach clenched as the pleasure built inside of him, higher and tighter. Mercifully, before he climbed too far, the intensity of the toy settled down. But now he was aching for it. He was so wet, and he wanted nothing more than to chase after the pleasure with abortive thrusts of his hips. What delightful torment.   
  
The vibrator stilled completely, and Aziraphale keened. Oh, but Crowley could be _cruel_. Reluctantly, he took the book back in hand and found his place. The vibrations returned, the softest setting, but Aziraphale was so thankful for even the tease. He continued:  
  
“He took the paper, and I watched,  
 _Ah_ -and saw him p-peep within,  
At the first line, his face- _hah!_ ,  
Was all upon a grin.”  
  
 _Click.  
  
_ Aziraphale felt like his entire core was a live wire, lit up from his clit to his sternum. Uselessly, his thighs flexed and strained, knees locked together under the table. The creak of his chair each time he shifted his weight felt like firecrackers in the quiet room. Aziraphale was a burning fuse, and he pulled at his collar with a single shaking finger to relieve the heat. The hand that held the poetry book trembled, fingers splaying the pages wide—enviously so. He traced the words over the page reverently, imagining his gentle touch slipping through slick folds instead of over dry paper.   
  
“He read the next; the grin g-grew broad,  
And shot from ear to ear.  
He r-read the - _ah!_ \- third,  
A ch- _uh!_ -ckling noise   
I now began to h-hear.”  
  
This wasn't going to last. He couldn't control how hard his legs shook and rubbed together, smooth and hot through the fabric of his trousers. The vibrator sang in concert to his pulse, a crescendo he was helpless to be swept up in. He looked up, eyes glazed in rapture and lips bitten to temper his moans. This was the show Crowley wanted to see—his crowning moment. Aziraphale bore hard into the toy, and read:  
  
“The f _-oh!_ -rth; he broke into a roar;  
The fifth his waistband spilt!”  
 _Ah!  
_ The sixth; he burst f-five buttons off,  
And t- _uh!_ -mbled in a fit!”  
  
 _Click.  
  
_ “OH, HEAVENS!”  
  
The vibrator ramped up to full speed. All at once his orgasm crested and Aziraphale doubled over. His right hand shot between his legs, gripping the edge of the chair so hard he bent the steel frame, and he rode the heel of his palm through the waves of pleasure. Slick gushed from him as his walls clenched around nothing, likely ruining his trousers. Had he half the mind to care, he knew he must have looked a wreck. But as it was, all he could feel was Crowley’s love surrounding him, buoying him in the current that threatened to carry him away.  
  
Weakly, he canted his hips, thighs straining from overexertion, as the gentled vibrator continued to coax him past pleasure and into oversensitivity. Crowley kept him there, gasping and wriggling for his edification. When Aziraphale was sure he could no longer stand it, the toy turned off completely with one final _click_. Relieved and wrung out, Aziraphale brought his hand to rest over his heaving chest.   
  
“O-oh…” he panted. “Goodness, me…” The little red light of the camera gleamed back at him cheerfully. Still rolling, then. Which meant that it was time for the closing act. He fumbled for the book with sex-drunk hands. Hazy with satisfaction and not caring a bit for the breathlessness, he finished:  
  
“Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,  
I watched that wretched man,  
And since, I never dare to write,  
As funny as I can.”  
  
Aziraphale dropped the book to the table and cradled his burning face in his hands. He felt absolutely giddy, barely trying to hide his wide grin.   
  
“Well done, Angel,” Crowley crooned.  
  
Aziraphale laughed. “Thank you, dear.” Between parted fingers saw the red indicator light wink off. “Was that what you were hoping for?”  
  
“You were a marvel. Couldn’t have asked for a better take,” Crowley said. He stepped out of the shadows and joined Aziraphale at the table, sitting on its surface. “Did you have fun?”  
  
“My, yes. Most assuredly. In case I did not make my enthusiasm well enough known.” Aziraphale leaned into his side and placed a hand on his knee. And oh, how delightful a view the position afforded him. “If I’m not mistaken, I am not the only one.”  
  
Crowley cackled goodnaturedly and denied nothing. Instead, he awarded Aziraphale with a soft kiss to his frazzled hair. “Come on, how about I let you get settled in with a nice blanket and some cocoa. You did so well for me, let me pamper you."  
  
“You ridiculous creature. Haven’t you spoiled me enough for one evening?”  
  
“Never in a thousand lifetimes will it ever be enough,” Crowley pledged. Another kiss, and a soft nudge to follow. “Come on, won’t you indulge me?”  
  
And, well, who was Aziraphale to refuse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [big shrug] I wanted it as a fic, so I did! :D Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to Oliver Wendell Holmes.
> 
> I just needed something silly to lighten my mood while I'm stuck inside, so figured might as well do it with some silly smut and one of my favorite silly poems! :D Thanks for joining me!
> 
> You can also find me elsewhere on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/smutkeeper) and [Instagram!](https://www.instagram.com/smutkeeper/)


End file.
